Dancing Blind
by BlackFruity
Summary: Vance Medici & Bryce Montrose. The darkness is both a blessing and seen as a curse as one boy wishes to be embraced by it and another tries to run away from his secrets.
1. Chapter 1

12/7/2008

**Dancing Blind**

The shadows of Old Bullworth Vale were still their pale grey, like an old man dying with the sunset. The rustling sheet of night slowly drifting down lower and lower, forever chasing that blazing light and being chased by it but neither could ever catch the other but still their existence mixed with one another, forming the shadows and the hues of the velveteen sky. And as the shadows grew deeper like scars on rock, the waters grew darker as well, greedily sucking in the light and killing it, leaving its depths hungry and wanting of its feed; a selfish beast that doesn't know when it is full and so it continues to eat.

The dark oppression of night always chilled Vance down to his bones, afraid that the night would rake its claws down his flesh and consume him like the water to the light but every Tuesday night he would return from Old Bullworth Vale with a black bag tucked hidden under his arm. His friends never questioned where he went and he never gave any excuse; sneaking out with the hideous night with his bag that only he has seen the inside of and returning just before the full smothering blanket of night pulls him into it's maw.

But the night wasn't all that threatened to devour him, Vance felt. It wasn't the school, or the desire to conform to be one of the Greasers by staying up to date with the latest bikes or even the pressure to hate a clique simply because they had more money then them. What kraken from the black carnivorous wrestled over sand and rock to grapple him with slim and drown him with the weight of the waves was the very reason why he returned every Tuesday night with head lowered and peddling fast on his bike. He peddled fast and hard, like a part of him thought that if he was fast enough, it would be like it never happened; not once, not ever, and his friends would think he only went to the toilet despite he had been off school grounds for over an hour.

As the gaping opening of the shed greedily and readily took in Vance's bike for the night, the Greaser began his hop and skip to the Boy's Dorm, nervous and constantly feeling the presence of the looming eight-tentacle monster of the deep hanging over him. Feeling it ready and waiting; pressuring him to be found out, to slip and fall into its beak where he would be broken and never see the light, doomed to drift in its belly in the deep, dark currents of the water. A fellow Greaser, doing his regular egging of their own dorm, didn't even give Vance any recognition as his friend entered the building, heading for his room, passing beneath the bleak lighting of the hallways and the shadow claws of black and grey that cleaves at every crack and rips into the torn wallpaper.

The wood of his door was scratched and worn from the numerous beast that have stampeded by with every cycle of the moon and stars and leaving the carnage of their lives embedded deep into the skeleton and joints of the building, wearing it down like the years did to them. The polish of the handle was nearly all off and felt rough in even his calloused and worked hands but its movements were smooth and easy as it works itself undone by his guidance, like the well oiled gears of his bike that he tends to so lovingly, and allowed admittance to the room beyond.

The light was off and for a moment, it was if night had caught up, caught up with mouth open and dripping its saliva of black all over the walls and it's teeth pointing jaggedly into the remaining light that was surviving its rape and brutalisation. But Vance calmly reached forward into the mouth, caressing the tongue as his fingers stroke the walls in search of the light switch. He could almost hear the hiss of pain and the death rattle of the shadows as light bloomed like a rose in the graveyard but he could see no carcass and he had a bag to hide until the next week.

With bag safely stashed away deep into the stomach of the kraken where he would hope the beast would keep it and not regurgitate it until needed by him once more, Vance felt he could leave the room and the beast behind, with only a single tentacle wrapped around his stomach but that was something he could ignore, to buried under by the latest bike news as he chatted with friends his fellow Greasers as they all pretend he never walks away from them once every week without a word.

But the night wasn't a fiend in the eyes of Bryce Montrose. No, it was a heavenly escape from the scathing bites of the sun as she slashes his skin and rips him bare; exposing him and blinding him by her harsh and merciless scream and continual raining blows down into his shoulders, making his legs wobbles and threaten to fail so he would fall. She wants him to fall, fall hard and fast, only stopping him to rip at any regrown flesh or healed wound. She wouldn't stop until he would scream, but then she would continue to lick his skin with nerve-numbing strokes, sucking the moisture from his body so he would crack and crumble and she would no-longer need to rake her nails down into his skin and rip fresh scabs off to reveal the pain beneath because he would have simple dried and flaked away like sand.

For Bryce, the night offered loving and soothing sweet kisses of a lover and pulled him gently into her bosom to hide the wounds, her body soft and gentle, moulding around his wounds so they would not hurt anymore and he would simply rest there. The body of his mistress was a cool and loving one that did not look deep into his skin for cracks that she could bury herself in and widen and nor did she question him and expect things from him like the sun did. The night was his lover while the sun was the haunting beast.

Bryce sat in his room in Harrington House, the lights off and window open so his lover could embrace him fully and kiss and caress the stings and wounds away. She spoke soft words that only he could hear and gently unclasped his hands from around his worries and fears to set them away on the nightstand where he would wake up the next morning and slowly grab hold of them all once again, one by one with the cursing of the sun raining down upon him. But until that time arrived, he was content to be cared by the night and her soft hands, rubbing away the lines of worry but footsteps on the soft expensive carpet and a knock on the pristine door that led into his darkened escape had him desperately clutching at those worries and fears once more.

"Bryce, old chap," The door opened without a sound and the hissing snakes of the Sun's spawn writhed into his room. "Sorry, were you sleeping?" The fellow preppie asked, squinting into the arms of the mistress while the bitch with ever-sharp talons rubbed her herself against his back. "Just wondering if you wanted in on a game of cards..." He paused only slightly. "Is everything alright?" Bryce saw his friend had found him seated by the large open window; the moon's light never making it inside the room.

"I'm fine. Just a little headache is all." He answered softly, wishing desperately that his lover would whisk him gently away into her bosom and wash him clean with her cool hands. His friend gave some parting words before closing the door, dragging the feral light with him and whatever didn't make it with him was strangled by his beautiful mistress with cold and deadly precision. But once those hands had extinguished the light, they returned to loving and lavishing him once more.

Bryce sighed, deep and heavy, weighed down by worries of his family issues, anxiety of his father's spending of his inheritance and problems of keeping up with pretences of the ever rich Montrose family heir. The night calmed his nerves but sitting in the skeleton of his fake smiles and even faker accent, he always felt the misery and sorrow of his life's lie. The mistress could only do so much. A breeze blew in, dancing around the curtains and caressing Bryce's smooth unblemished face with her skirts. He could hear her whispered words and an urge overtook him to escape from the skeleton.

"Come and dance with me." She moaned and Bryce could only obey, standing from his chair and pulling out of his wardrobe his Aquaberry sweater and blue and yellow striped scarf. The soft fabrics were easy on his skin and as he walked out of Harrington House after a short exchange with his fellow Preppies, they also kept the warmth and prevented the cold from numbing his body. Ducking his head from the piercing spears of light as he walked out of the entrance way, Bryce's soft auburn hair caught the gleam and reflected it back – a proud achievement for any Preppie but this one didn't care.

He wanted to shrink away from the light and hide in the shadows and as he walked up the short steps up to the statue of the Bullworth Bullhorn's mascot, he saw that the lights were on around the gym area and a Prefect was coming in from the school but there was nothing but black skirts and easy anonymity dressing the garage where the Greasers hang out. It was late, a school night and past curfew. Bryce quickly walked into the shadows, the cool hands holding him and before long he was completely dressed in Shadow's silk and despite the smell of grease and unwashed bodies. Bryce was at ease, no-longer caring where exactly he was or how if he was found by the Greasers he would bashed without any mercy or aid; he was simply calm, relaxed, and even a little bit happy.

The light didn't seem so oppressing any more, if only a little.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dancing Blind**

After Bryce's first experience with complete darkness, he grew an unending hunger for it; desire building within him to forever bury his head into the soft tresses of ink shadows and stay there, wrapped and bound but so utterly free. Every night, just as curfew descends and the Greasers abandon their garage for the warmth of their dorm, Bryce would go and simply stand outside the garage roller door, around the bend of the building and completely enclosed from the outside world with only bricks, some stained red beyond their ability, and the stars above.

For nearly a week, Bryce had gotten into this habit and he would only ever leave when his legs began to feel numb from the cold but still he woke the next morning with a previously bleeding crack in his shell filled and a crease of worry smoothed out. He still felt the problems his father was putting him through but he slowly began to see the brighter side to things. He was still part of the Harrington House dorm, still a Preppie in all consideration and, if he really knew his mother, Mommy would straighten his father out before long as she was a tough old woman who never had an eye off the bank balance and especially her son's if she wants her bloodline to continue – and she does.

But one night, a Tuesday night by his memory, he found the Greasers had left earlier then usual, the sun had barely set and the garage was left for empty. Bryce was simply returning from a trip to the Aquaberry shop with one of his fellow Preppies but had left his friend to buy whatever he pleased as he was currently waiting for the new shipment to come in. Bryce smoothly peddled up the driveway towards the garage to ride up to Harrington House but was surprised to see no lights or sounds were emanating from the grease monkey's hideaway.

Slowly walking around the bends, makeshift fences and burnt-out old cars left for scrap, Bryce was careful not to make a sound and was pulling his bike along with him in case of the need of a quick escape but his fears never turned to reality as the garage was deserted but left unlocked. All Bryce had to do was walk through the garage and he could come out the other end without a scratch. Perhaps he should pass word on to Derby of his find? No, it would be quicker – and so much more fun – if he was the one to cause the Greasers some trouble. They should know better then to leave things unlocked anyway.

Bryce leaned his bike against the nearby wall in between the two roller doors, looking around the unlit and apparently abandoned building in search of something to trash and purely piss-off the Greasers with; a prank? There were cans of super glue so he could 'help' the grease monkeys never lose their tools again. Or maybe a tag seeing as there was also a few cans of spray paint on the nearby bench just innocently waiting for use. Just as Bryce picked up a tube of super glue on the other side of the room to inspect its properties and make sure it wasn't one of those easy to unglue brands, the auburn haired Montrose heard the sound of a metal roller door from the bike shed.

A quick glance saw that his bike was only a short dash away and facing the door that would lead him straight to the statue of the Bullhorn's mascot – the opposite direction of the sounds. Bryce slowly and quietly placed the glue canister back down on the shelf but stepped backward, melding into the shadows while cursing the bright dye of his Aquaberry sweater vest and the starch white of his shirt collar. The senses of his medium-sized body of tightened muscle and pure skin filled rich with the infamous 'blue' blood of a Preppie were straining, it was a while before he began to hear footsteps approaching the garage but Bryce nearly sighed with relief as he heard only one set was drawing closer. As long as it wasn't one of the more heavily built Greasers, Bryce might actually stand a chance against the pauper.

A figure appeared, nearly his same size dressed in a black leather jacket and unrealistically styled red hair – a definite greaser if Bryce ever saw one and one he might be able to sneak by if he could just remain unnoticed. The Greaser spotted his Aquaberry-blue bike leaning against the wall next to him and Bryce felt his knees give a sudden shake. The Greaser had his back to Bryce as he kneeled down and inspected the bike, raising a hand to touch his hair after a brief period and gave the Preppie the perfect view of a jet-black bag under his arm, the straps hidden amongst the folds of his jacket.

Bryce's hands began to ache as he pressed his body harder against the wall with palms flat against the rough surface, willing the shadows to completely devour him and take him away but he was stuck. Just as the idea of creeping up and jumping the other began to feel like the only option available, the Greaser stood up and began shutting and locking the roller door to his right, leaving the bike by the wall and placing the mysterious bag down next to it. Bryce eyed the bag and his bike, the door leading to the Bullhorn's mascot statue being locked by the Greaser. He had to get out and soon, the shadows could only help with staying hidden but how was he supposed to get out with light filtering in through the only exit and the Greaser was too close to slip by unnoticed without leaving his bike behind. But the bag he could easily grab and make a run for it.

The Greaser dressed in a black jacket was nearly finished with locking the door when Bryce finally came to a decision. Grabbing a can of super glue by the handle and running up behind the Greaser without any care of making noise or being seen, he swung his shoulders back and around just the eyes of the grease monkey caught his and for that brief moment before the side of the can connected with the other's skull, Bryce saw those wide eyes of an animal being tackled by its enemy but something tugged at him and he felt his own eyes widen as recognition flooded through him. No more then a split-second later, the vibration of the impact jarred him alert and Bryce instinctively turned and grabbed his bike, reaching down to snatch the bag with him as he peddled out of the garage as the Greaser's words echoed in the dark gloom of the building.

"Ugh... one way ticket to Ouchville... ohh..." Vance moaned as he tried to sit up, the ring of the can still piercing his ears. Sitting up-right, the Greaser was shocked to see that the can that was pelted at him was in fact a can of super glue and the lid had flung clean off from the impact and he could see the large dent in the can from the assault. Before he dared venture to see if any of the glue had landed in his ever-perfect hair, Vance was relieved to see the container was empty and whatever traced were left were all dried and solid.

Vance sat still in the shaded light of the nearly settled sun below the horizon, going over the kid that blindsided him with a can of superglue. He couldn't remember the colour of his hair or even what he was wearing, but there was one thing that kept tugging at his stomach and all he could see before him was those brilliant eyes. He couldn't remember the colour but they sparkled like the morning sun when you wake up with a hangover; piercing his soul, setting his skin aflame and rooting him still, somehow draining his strength so he couldn't get away.

Those eyes had him mesmerised yet at the same time, he didn't know to whom they belonged to. They could be gemstones set in the scared rock of Jock or the overly pudgy or unrealistically pointed Nerd for all he knew. A sudden throb later and those eyes vanished with the tint of rose as the pain in his left cheek screamed its protests known. And with the throb, Vance's fascination was tainted with the urge to pummel whoever had laid siege to his face – he had known instinctively from the very first throb that the bruise would be hideously large and even more hideous in colour.

As Vance finally dragged himself off the floor, he grabs the spare key he had dropped when knocked down and he turns to exit and lock the other door. However, his dark kraken was looming in the shadows, waiting for him like the other kid had apparently waited for him to become distracted before striking and a quick glance down to where the bike and his bag was last seen, the monster he had feared for all this long time snapped out its tentacles and _squeezed_.

Vance's knees gave out and he slumped to the ground, no-longer caring the oppressive night had devoured the school and the only meagre light was from the enslaved moon and sprinkling of the cynical stars for the beast had caught him and it wouldn't be long until the smell of its saliva and the burning touch of its stomach acids would cover him completely. And as Bryce looked out into the night, and recalled the recognition he felt in the eyes of that unknown Greaser, it wasn't until he felt the caress of his mistress that he realised what the recognition was; his eyes were like _her_.

The night called to him so she could sooth his sorrows but his mind was captivated by the dark pits he felt himself teetering on the edge of falling in to; eyes that only took a split-second to completely throw him from his devotion to the mistress and eyes that were embedded into a boy he had no name for. Bryce looked down to his hand where the bag was still clutched. A Preppie had asked the reason why he held such a 'common' bag but Bryce was sharp after his bout with the Greaser and had simply smiled and laid hints of a prank against the Greasers. His friend bought it but still frowned at the unsightly commoner's bag and Bryce had to as well as it smelt of body odour and grease – the latter was proof enough it was a possession of a Greaser.

Setting the bag down the floor, away from the carpet in case of stains, Bryce apprehensively opened the zip and had to frown even more, inducing a crease on his forehead as he leaned back when the top was pushed back and more of the dreadfully dirty odour escaped like morning breath. Keeping his face scrunched as more show of his disgust then the actual smell, Bryce only poked at the contents, fearful of the smell falling out of the bag and festering in his carpet. The contents felt like clothing but a prod to the side of the bag revealed something hard was hidden underneath.

And just as Bryce began to explore the unknown contents, so was Vance barely able to walk back to the dorm, his friend that was egging the building and wouldn't usually give him any recognition around this time on Tuesday nights, saw the difference and promptly dropped the carton and ran up to his friend, questions shooting from his mouth when spotting the darkening hue of Vance's cheek and it wasn't long until he was seated in his dorm room with the near whole of the gang standing around him, waiting for an explanation with resolute silence.

Vance knew the day would come when that horrid fiend of black night would ensnare him and pull him into its beak and now, all he was waiting for was the final snap as the two bloody halves broke him and crushed him into oblivion. He finally looked up at the looming form of his friends, the bruise on his cheek already turning a ghastly purple, and saw the encouraging and protective looks on their faces.

The grip of his crushing guilt, his fear and embarrassment loosened just that tiny bit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dancing Blind**

As Vance told his friends of the events leading up to the mutilation of his beautiful face, the suspicion was immediately placed on the Preppies with the mention of the powder-blue bicycle while leaving out the detail of the stolen bag. It was already an unspoken agreement between Vance and his fellow Greasers that even when it was his turn to clean and lock up the garage, no mention or consideration would be taken into account of Vance's disappearance every Tuesday night.

However, as his friends began to plan schemes of revenge which slowly turned to hints of full blown war, Vance stood up and calmly told them it was his fight, a way of redeeming his pride. They all smiled and one even called him 'righteous'. Vance didn't know what that meant but laughed along with them all the same before bidding them goodnight with promises of not being too shy to ask for aid from his friends when needed.

And when morning came with the gentle sunlight peeking through his window shyly, Vance tried his best to awaken with a smile and embrace the day with a light step, keeping rhythm with the throb of his cheek. But it was a facade to perform to the world as the feel of being pulled down under the crashing waves would never leave him. The day wore on and each minute seemed more crushing then the next. His secret could be exposed, reputation destroyed, respect lost from his friends and even rivals. Vance had no intention of letting any of things happen but all he had to go own was a Preppie's bike and brilliantly beautiful eyes that he couldn't even remember the colour of.

By the end of the school day, Vance had found resolve to hunt out Harrington House in hopes of perhaps recognising those eyes or at least maybe hear gossip of a Greaser's bag. After nearly being mauled by a dog with a bad attitude, hearing nothing but Aquaberry and rumours of other cliques – some of the worst reserved for his own friends – the sun had nearly set and with it came the cold while in the building next to him Bryce sat on his bed, the bag from the unknown Greaser with hauntingly dark eyes sat in the corner of his room, hidden by the shadow of his desk but his eyes never left it.

Even as the fabric seemed to merge into the shadows and the wall, it held his gaze and froze him motionless with a medusa stare forcing him to do nothing but relive the memories of the previous night. The contents had surprised him but, at the same time, had peaked his interest and curiosity, making him want to know more. He wondered if he would ever meet that Greaser again or if he would even be able to recognize him as he had never fully caught what the grease monkey had looked like during their short interval before the smack of the glue canister.

Would the Greaser recognize him, he wondered. He knew the other had red hair and a black jacket but so did most of them in his opinion, and his bike had clearly been noticed, marking the birth of possible suspicion towards the Preppie clique. Would the whole gang attack Harrington House in revenge of their comrade or was his face seen and they were waiting for his moment of weakness and they would jump him from the skirts of his own mistress; the shadows of night.

When the shadows of his desk had died to a near pure black, Bryce stands from his bed and walks to the open window. Looking up into the arms of his lover, the twinkling sequins of her gown remain unruffled though the pattern is lost to Bryce. After a gentle caress from her hands in the wind, the auburn haired kid, dressed in his yellow and blue stripped scarf, closes the window and shuts the curtains, walking out of his room with the black bag hidden in the shadows and a thread of his devotion caught in its zip.

This night he left Harrington House later then he usual did on his previous trips to the shadows of the Greaser turf. But as he pressed his body inside his mistress the only way he knew how, he could not find any way to relax, as if the bitch of light had followed him and her scathing voice raped his ears. He tilted his head up, into the skirts of his mistress and the eyes of the Greaser captivated his mind's eye once more. With slender neck arched, hands in pockets and eyes closed, Bryce tried to relax his body.

Unknown to the Preppie, his auburn hair caught the gleam of the moon and shone like smooth silk even as the gentle breeze of his secret lover's hands touched his skin. Bryce wondered if it was the bag hidden in his room that had him on edge or those eyes of the Greaser that may be invoking jealousy from his mistress. The look of those eyes; dark and seducing but holding that same feel of comfort and protection with the lack of criticizing ideals he so often sought. But maybe that was just his mind hoping for the appearance of such a person, someone who would come into his life and take on the physical role of his imagined lover.

Had he really become so obsessed with the feel of the shadows that his mind is placing all those ideals into the gaze of another man he doesn't even know? Are these blood and oil stained bricks all he has to show for his closure and peace of mind while cursing the sun who has no involvement in his daily problems? Bryce rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. He knew he had to stop coming here, but a little fragment of his being was hoping, hoping the Greaser he had attacked would appear and ask for his bag back. Perhaps the grease monkey would come alone so they could talk openly and neither would have to worry about ruined reputations because the conversation would be kept between the two of them.

Life could never be that simple though. He could wait here for the rest for the school year, night after night, and the Greaser he wants to meet the most would never show. So Bryce sighed and said his final goodbye to the shadows of the garage, the kraken of the deep that haunted the Greaser he had grown an obsession over and the mistress with her cool, soft hands.

Vance had followed the Preppie after seeing he was heading to the garage, maybe on the idea of playing a trick or prank that the Greaser wouldn't allow if he could help it. But as he peered around the edge of the building in the black stomach of the beast, he saw the Preppie standing their on the tongue, neither completely devoured but certainly not within the safety margin.

He wasn't able to see the other's face but, as the gleam of the moon had its sister's light reflected back to it by the seemingly natural sheen of the rich snob struck a chord of envy inside Vance as he was reminded of his own damaged good looks. Vance has been known around the school for chasing a pretty face – male or female, he didn't hold a grudge. But watching a slender body hidden in shadows did something to him. Whether it was attraction or fascination that drew him out into the open to face this rival clique member he didn't care.

Vance stood in the open moonlight for as long as needed before the Preppie turned and saw him for the first time. When their eyes met, Vance swore it was the same pair of eyes he had encountered before and had tantalised and teased him all day and night. When the slender faced boy stepped back with wide-eyed recognition and fear flooded those bright sparkling eyes he knew it was.

When people write of the onset to violence, they seem to always go with how something inside the person snapped, releasing a torrent of rage and anger and even some fear. But Vance didn't brake. He didn't crumble, rupture or crack. He frowned and stepped up the rich snob, grabbing him by the starched collar and pushing deep and deep inside the yawning beak. He felt something fit together. This was the Preppie who had nearly knocked him out with a can of glue, the Preppie who had stolen his bag and the very same Preppie would not hesitate to use the evidence inside it to get his way. And Vance knew that before any leeway could put under or over him, he would get something just as dirty on the other.

"Let go of me, you pauper!" Bryce struggled against the hold, surprise and shock getting the better of his movements, making him slow to react and clumsy. "You indigents make me sick! You think you can touch me!?" Bryce held a tightening grip on the wrists to the hands that had seized his shirt collar, feeling the grind of the bones underneath his fingers. Vance grounded his teeth together, their pearl sheen lost in the swirling darkness.

"You have something of mine and you know it. Give it up, pinwheel." Vance Medici threatened and could just make out the disdainful look on the smooth and feminine contours of the Preppie's face.

"I realised that the moment I saw that disgusting looking bruise on your face." The auburn haired kid spoke softly but with a superior undertone mastered only after years of Preppie grooming. "There's no need to be so uncivilised about it. It is just a filthy commoner's bag..." A grunt of pain rattled from him as the Greaser threw him into a brick wall, his vision blurring for a brief moment as his head collided with the solid mass. When he opens his eyes, he is able to see enough that the Greaser is actually nearly a full head shorter then him.

"You've looked through it, haven't you? If you don't give it back and act like you never saw what is inside of it..."

"Why? I don't see what you're so angry about." Bryce's face softened as if a layer of silk had dropped down over his face but the sharp peaks of dislike and self-righteousness still pressed into the fabric. "I think it is actually quite... an achievement." He spoke honestly and feeling shy and vulnerable as he did. The grip on him loosened slightly so he returned the favour, hearing and feeling the non-discreet pop of joints creaking back to their natural position.

"What are you mocking me now? What's the deal, pinwheel? You trying to play you're Preppie mind games?" Vance felt off-kilter at the last comment. The unfamiliarity of the whole situation and the unease of its topic already had him on edge but now he felt that this Preppie really didn't have it out for him despite their status.

"Why are so worried? I don't see anything wrong with what you're doing."

"You... You're kidding. I'm a Greaser. Of course it's wrong!" He growled.

"Why? You still haven't answered me, you know." Vance stared up into the bright eyes of the Preppie he still had no name for. Rather then answer the question, the Medici pushed his body forward, pulling down on the expensive collar, pushing a knee between the rich snob's legs, firmly arranging his lips over and onto the other's.

Vance has been known around the school for chasing a pretty face – male or female, he didn't hold a grudge and he certainly didn't hesitate in using it to his advantage. It was only brief and before Bryce could comprehend the situation and fight back, Vance had stepped away, completely dislodging himself from the other with a smug look on his face.

"You're pretty sweet, baby. Did you know that?" He wiped the back of his index finger under his bottom lip, gently sucking the saliva that gathered there. He smirked. Bryce gripped the brick wall; finger nails screaming, body shaking. He bowed his head, quickly hiding his face and the look of concentrated embarrassment and confusion forced onto his face. Bryce suddenly found all of his confidence was drained from him; the kiss of the Greaser was vampiric the way it sucked his self-assurance dry and made his knees shake in weakness with the whisper of words that made his heart and mind spin.

"Alright..." The Preppie whispered in defeat, not willing to allow the current situation drag on for any longer then it had to. "I'll get your bag. Just don't touch me. Keep you're filthy paws off me, you mutt." Scraping together whatever of his pride lay at his feet, Bryce Montrose quickly walked around and away from Vance, keeping his head down but his eyes on the neck of the Greaser, humiliation preventing his ability to look the other in the eye.

The auburn haired teenager made a dash away from him, heading straight into Harrington House, leaving Vance to watch the retreating figure, unsure wether the boy would come back out again with his bag or if he should go and come back the same time the next night. Vance licked his lips, feeling a thrill of achievement as he tasted the Preppie on his lips. He would definitely meet that boy again, hopefully when no-one else was around, and lay claim to those lips again. Vance wouldn't do it out of romance or love, just for the taste of the thrill and the power he felt by having control over another being with claim over much higher status then himself.

He wanted to place his pain on another person.


End file.
